I stopped on the way home and put my hand right into the middle of the biggest pile of fire ants that I could find and just let them crawl over my flesh while I cried, the ants biting and injecting their poison into me until I could finally feel the pain physically. It felt good to feel something again, and it felt good that it was painful. Of course now I realize that was really fucking stupid because my hand has swollen up to twice its size and its full of poison which itches madly, but it was what I needed at the time.
In retrospect I guess I’m flattered that she reacted so quickly to come and talk to me, rushing out of the bedroom in the middle of doing it and all, but what the FUCK! Dammit I feel like such an ass. I know she likes me, probably even loves me because she was scared she had hurt me but even though it’s comforting to know she cares, it hurts a lot more now that I’ve seen them together. I guess I can’t accept her being with him out of casual habit anymore. There has to be more between them that I don’t know about. I’m a fucking fool for thinking a relationship of a month and a half could compete with what they’ve had for so many years. A harsh reality check for me I guess but necessary. I just wish I didn’t love her so fucking much now. Mea Culpa I guess. Fuck it.
You know I’ve always wished I had a widow’s peak. There’s just something about having your hair come to a point on your forehead that says “I am mysterious, I have influential powers of darkness at my disposal.” I think maybe it’s some sort of Dracula complex, I’ve just always been fascinated with somebody’s hair making an independent decision about the best way to frame a face. Oh well, one of life’s mysteries I guess. Maybe the reason I mention the hair thing is because my hair is starting to get long again finally. Last year it was down past my shoulders, a savage blonde mane that I defiantly chopped off half of in one of those spite-my-girlfriend-adolescent-rage-type deals. Most men don’t realize what a pain in the ass it is to grow out your hair really long. All that shampooing and conditioning and combing and constantly preening is ludicrous, no wonder women are all crazy. You can’t turn your head a certain way or your vision gets obstructed, you can’t ride in a convertible or you get knots, you can’t even do anything cool like put it in girly pigtails. If you are a guy there are three options: ponytail, not a ponytail, or stuffed under a hat. Bald men probably would be shocked in disbelief at my heresy (bad pun) but picking hair out of my ass every time I bathe is a constant chore that nobody thinks of until they are in the maw of the beast. My hair is a beast that consumes my head and accumulates smoke, dust and pizza grease juice funk like a wet old smelly mop.
I know I haven’t written much of anything since I found Jenifer and Kristoff together in the sack a few weeks ago, but I guess things have actually gotten more intimate between me and Jenifer since then. Whatever happened that day just happened. We both know there will have to be a choice of some sort soon but we haven’t talked or thought about it at all.
This evening we lit fireworks off the roof of her apartment down in Cement City. Anywhere else in Denton and the bastard police will cut your balls off for shooting fireworks, but they won’t come down to the ghetto. Typical America, but we used it to our advantageous amusement and had a fun time.
Jenifer has a Ford Escort, which she affectionately calls “RedOne” and late in the evening while we were sexing it up in her apartment, someone came by and slashed her tires on the driver’s side. I could tell it kind of spooked her but it just made me really angry with no one to take it out on. It was very strange because we had only been at her apartment for about 30 minutes and she was just about to drive me home when we discovered the damage. She had parked across the street with the passenger side of RedOne facing her apartment, the culprit was probably fucking hiding on the far side of her car and watching her apartment as he cut her tires. Spooky stuff. Neither one of us could think of anyone who was aggravated with her in the slightest, but I am beginning to discover that weird-ness follows this girl.
When Jenifer was at Texas A&M for her first brief year of college, she acquired a stalker. The guy would follow her to her apartment. Once he even cut the power to her apartment, before the police got involved. I guess if I want to psychotically obsess over Jenifer I will have to take a number. Thankfully I’m not that crazy yet, just taking advantage of the time we are together not worrying about the future or pining for my lost innocence and blaming generation X.
What am I saying? Dese Nuts! Time to sleep.
I may not have mentioned this before, but this summer, come hell or high water, I am going to go see the Grateful Dead. This second summer semester is my own time to play with and I AM going to go see the Grateful Dead. Throughout my many acid-filled years living in the dorms here at college and interacting with all the cool people in town, I’ve been hearing tales about how going to a Dead show is one of the ultimate life experiences. I don’t want to go for the drugs, I want to taste a little bit of true “On The Road” freedom. I’m young and I’ve got the stamina and the willpower to complete a cross-country journey, plus I’ve saved a little money to help butter my way across the veins of the U.S. At first I thought it might be romantic to hitchhike, but I’ve never done that before and I’m not sure I would get enough rides fast enough to get up to Oregon and still see the shows.
Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rye.
Right now, my worst-case scenario involves me taking my ‘74 VW bug with the flower stickers, the exhaust problem, the funky clutch and flying solo on the trip, but I really don’t want to do that. I could easily get stranded somewhere in the bounty of America’s heartland or the exhaust leak that makes me dizzy when I drive the car too far could cause brain damage by the time I make it to the Pacific Northwest. I explained my intentions to Jenifer and she suggested I put a flier up in the Karma Kafe’ since a lot of people in Denton who hang out there are going to the shows.
So here’s the flier I put up:
Of course my ultimate fantasy would be to go with Her to the shows. It would be our first road trip together and seeing the Dead would be sweet, but she already committed to going with (gasp) Kristoff at the beginning of the summer. Calm blue Ocean, calm blue Ocean.
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
I’m actually all right with it. This trip will be a definitive point in our lives together I can just feel it. She told me that she wished she hadn’t promised to go with him so long ago but in a way it’s good. I’m praying it will help her decide she really wants to be with me but I’m relaxed about the situation now that the final cards are dealt because it’s all up to fate I suppose. Regardless of what happens we are going to have a little time together before our vacation/separation and more than likely we’ll see each other at the shows in Oregon but I really don’t know what to expect. Long car trips tend to create a forced companionship that strengthens or dissolves any bond. I’m confident that even if she doesn’t know me yet, she knows she wants to know me and I’ll leave it at that.
One of Jenifer’s ex-boyfriends (another?) who owns part of the Karma Kafe is going and she isn’t promising anything, but she said she would talk to him. I’m hoping to find a ride because I would like to go with someone who knows about the music and “scene” to maximize my experience.